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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26982196">Bittersweet Letters</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonqueerdom/pseuds/moonqueerdom'>moonqueerdom</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>All For The Game - Nora Sakavic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Canon, Andreil, Andrew draws, Letters, M/M, Neil Josten is a Mess, Neil wants to be a writer, Plotless, Soft Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, a bit of kids andreil, soft</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 22:21:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,932</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26982196</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonqueerdom/pseuds/moonqueerdom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>During a Christmas day in his childhood, Neil quickly meets Andrew, a grumpy little boy who becomes the motivation for his goal of writing a book. From there on, Neil writes multiple letters to the boy until the day he meets him again.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>134</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Bittersweet Letters</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/erosandhades/gifts">erosandhades</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>yes, I love playing with letters, maybe that's my weak point.<br/>but this time it's not sad, I swear. in fact I don't even know what exactly this fic is... I wrote it kinda as a way of relief for a small creative block (that's why it's so short) so there's not really much of a plot in here, but I hope y'all like it anyway.</p><p>I had this idea because of my beta reader (they don't know about it, by the way. this fic was betaed by someone else (which, thanks so much for that <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunfl0wer_will/profile">Vic</a>) and it's a surprise). many of the words written here are way more personal than y'all can imagine because it's really about me (and them, I guess?). I really put myself into this Neil and things just flowed, now I hope they understand what I meant with every word. this fic is for you, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabtoledo">Gab</a>. I wrote it for you and I dedicate it to you. thank you so much for teaching me how to write (in the sensitive way of the thing, not literally forming words) and, above all, for being my friend and taking care of me. love you</p><p>(TW: smoking, mentions of Neil's past and his mother's death)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was a normal day when Nathaniel first met that pair of hazel eyes. When he woke up that day he couldn't have even started to imagine that something so big was about to happen. Of course, being a six-year-old child didn't exactly help the situation, he couldn't have imagined it even if he wanted to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, it happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They met by chance on a park bench and Nathaniel asked what book he was reading.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Luna Clara &amp; Apolo Onze," the other little boy replied, with a very grumpy expression for someone so small.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What does that mean?" Nathaniel tilted his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It's the name of the book. And the characters.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ah," he shook his head and made an involuntary pout that accentuated his chubby cheeks. "Are you enjoying it?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blond boy looked at him, frowning, and Nathaniel just stared back, blue eyes shining and little hands clasped over his lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't understand a word of the book," the elder said, shrugging.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You don't know how to read either?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course I can read, but this book is in Portuguese and I cannot speak this language."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why do you have it, then?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My new foster family is Brazilian, they had the book and I decided to get it. It's my favorite so far.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But you don’t understand it," he stated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, yeah, but It means I can imagine the story."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That’s cool," Nathaniel's sweet voice echoed, impressed. "What's your name?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Andrew."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, Andrew! I am Nathaniel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They exchanged looks and Nathaniel was smiling widely. It was Christmas and they both were wearing heavy clothes because of the cold weather, but they still had their cheeks, nose and ears flushed anyway. Andrew grimaced, raised a hand, grabbed the end of Nathaniel's hat and pulled it down, covering the child's entire face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their families weren't around to prevent them from talking about Andrew's version of the characters in the story while showing the few images of small drawings along with the pages of the book. Nathaniel always held up grabby hands to see these figures up close and Andrew helped him because the boy's hands were too small and he was afraid that he might end up dropping the book.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was until Nathaniel was carried away by a more nervous than usual Mary, but he didn't identify this detail while saying goodbye to the hazel eyes — which was a mistake because, then, he didn't prepare himself for Nathan's temper and violence at the very first moment when they stepped foot at home.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hello, Andrew.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I learned how to write and you were the first person I decided to share it with.  I can write perfectly the name of my favorite cartoons, the colors I like and I am learning difficult words like Enormity, Unabashed and Ironic. (I cheated, actually I asked mum how to spell those three words.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is cool because one day I will be able to write a book like the one you showed me, and people will be able to imagine the story of my characters as well.  (I hope you can imagine their story.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I promise you will be the first person to read everything I write, okay?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>P.S. (mum also told me what it means): Unfortunately I still don't know how to send letters, but I will keep writing and try to send everything to you as soon as I learn how to do it too.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Nathaniel</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hello, hazel eyes.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It's been a while, I guess? More than a year since the last letter I wrote, to be more precise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time I decided to write because I'm in trouble.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In short, mum and I ran away. She doesn't want to tell me what happened, but we've been like this for a few weeks now.  It's scary, like in those superhero movies but without the superheroes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I decided to write to you because that seemed like a good idea. I'm doing it fast before mum sees it, or I'll be in big trouble, but that's okay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I need to tell you that I had an incredible story idea for my future book. Remember that I told you about it? Right, then. I don't know but something tells me that I should do a story like fairy tales, with a lot of magic and exotic things. Maybe I put elves and ogres, they’re cool too. But don't tell anyone, you have the privilege to know about my stories first and that privilege is yours alone, don't ruin it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Mum is coming back, I can't write anymore, but I'll keep hoping that I'll be back soon.)</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Nathaniel</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Andrew!!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Mum and I are in another country. She looks worried and says that the reasons for this are not good, but now I'm going to a small school and this is super cool!! I didn't use to meet people around my age so this is completely new.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There's a little girl in my class, her name is Brie and she's very much silly and kinda stupid. (It's okay, she won't be offended by this, she also thinks I'm an idiot.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brie and I talk a lot all the time and she is super creative, I had a lot of inspirations for my story because of her. Despite this, she doesn't know anything about the story itself, remember that this privilege is only yours? I'm keeping this up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyway, the school is cool, I hope we can stay here for a while.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Alex. (Don't worry, it's still me.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Uh, hello.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>First of all, the school didn't work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that's okay, I guess I should have waited for something like this to happen, right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moving on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For you, today I have a question: do you think it's possible to really like someone who isn't physically with you?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thing is, I write all these letters for you, Andrew. Writing is my comfort, and the expectation of seeing you in person (again) someday and being able to deliver all of this to you is my goal. But this is a little surreal, isn't it? In the end, it just is what it is. You mean relief and support to me, and I will never really understand that. You taught me to read the images and maybe it was the first spark of creativity in my life, back in my childhood. And I don't even know if you remember me or, even less, why I feel that way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But I still intend to give you everything in person, so you better remember. Put your mind to work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyway, that's it for now. I'm feeling a little melancholy today but my mother doesn't listen to me very often and, honestly? I think I prefer it when she doesn't listen.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Stefan. (Still me).</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dear Drew,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Today I made a decision. I want to write </span>
  <em>
    <span>and publish</span>
  </em>
  <span> a book.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But I am unable to do this in my current situation, so I need to wait until we see each other again and you can help me. </span>
  <em>
    <span>'Why's that?'</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you ask. I don't know either, but I think you're good with stories, aren't you? This will help me to put my thoughts together. Anyway, waiting can be very good after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Writing letters helps me practice a little writing — as much as I can — and thinking about you inspires me. Is it possible? Well, I imagine it is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At a souvenirs store, I managed to read some poems about creativity, but I don't remember any enough to paraphrase. I'm sorry for that, but I owe you an incredible poetry reading session, all right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wanted to write a lot more but Mary will be here soon, she's not giving me any rest lately. It's suffocating.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Still living for the expectation of seeing you again, Chris. (Still me.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Andrew,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I've been wanting to write something to you for a long time but I couldn't muster up enough courage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I recently burned my mother's lifeless body. I also burned our whole life along with her flesh and bones. I'm alone now and I don't know what to think or do about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I spent the last few days locked and hidden. All I did was write but what I really wanted to do was to sink myself. Maybe I did it, unconsciously. I sank into words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, I didn't write anything for you. I couldn't make it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I see now your face is in magazines and a few TV shows. Exy player, huh? On a team with Kevin Day? Only the best for you, after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Having you in the media also put you on my radar (sorry if that sounds weird), and now I feel as close as possible to getting the reunion I've been waiting for. I hope you remember me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And this is probably one of the most irresponsible things I’m going to do in a long time, but I don’t think I can help it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>See you.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Neil.</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The team was returning to the dorms when Nicky suddenly stopped in front of one of the doors. He didn't get much attention, though, because everyone was used to Nicky pulling up stuff like that by now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That is, until he said, "Uh, Andrew," and looked at his cousin. "Are you waiting for someone?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andrew didn't look at him or answered. His gaze didn't even change. Kevin rolled his eyes, passed through everyone, and went over to Nicky. He pulled out a piece of paper that was tucked on the door and looked at it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Waiting for someone or not, someone is waiting for you on the roof," he said, and then went into the dorm without saying anything else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone moved and went to their respective places. When only Andrew was in the hallway — and ready to go into hiding in his own bedroom and promptly ignore whatever it was — he saw the paper that was once again tucked on the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Nathaniel’</span>
  </em>
  <span> was what the signature in the bottom corner said, and his fingers tightened on the paper. Immediately everything Andrew saw was blue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He fumbled in his own pockets and rummaged through until he found a pack of cigarettes, from which he took one stick, put it between his lips, and lit it before he even reached the stairs to the roof. He stood for a long time on the first step, thinking.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Could it be </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>him</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>? Really?</span>
  </em>
  <span> What were the chances that it was all a lie and, actually, some kind of bizarre mockery that Andrew had no idea how had happened? Nobody knew about </span>
  <em>
    <span>him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Two cigarettes later, he still had no idea what to think about the whole situation, so he lit another one and went to the roof. He was attentive, already preparing the knives under his armbands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door was half open and he pushed carefully to be greeted by the figure of a single man sitting near the edge. Andrew scanned him quietly. Looking from behind, all he could notice was the slim but not tall body and the auburn hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Auburn hair, he fucking remembered that.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Silent as he was, he walked over to that person, looked one last time, more closely now, and then sat down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe he was dumb and stupid or something because he was surrendering so easily to whatever crap that crazy one was selling, but he couldn't give a single fuck right now. Andrew breathed the cigarette he had between his fingers once and kept his grumpy gaze locked on the campus in front of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey," the auburn-haired man's hoarse voice said suddenly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Andrew, if it was possible, closed his expression even more. He didn't want to let anything go by his facade, so he was working a bit hard for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Waiting for someone?" He asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other man nodded. “Um, yeah. A really intense and serious blonde that I met many years ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Too vague description, you'll have to be more specific if you want me to locate that person."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He likes to read books even if he doesn't understand them, his nose, cheeks and ear tips are extremely pink in the cold of Christmas and he taught me to write. Like, really writing. In the sensitive way of the thing, not </span>
  <em>
    <span>literally forming words.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andrew rolled his eyes and scoffed — letting some smoke escape his lips. "Are you an idiot? Just say the name of the person you're looking for, things will be much easier this way. ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lopsided grin that appeared in the auburn-haired man's mouth — and Andrew saw it from the peripheral vision — was sweet and gentle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hi, Andrew," he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You're wrong, I am Aaron. Andrew died and you shouldn't be looking for him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man actually laughed now, finally turning and looking directly at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nice to meet you then, </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Aaron’</span>
  </em>
  <span>. My name is Neil. Well, it used to be Nathaniel but I pretty much hate that name now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andrew acknowledged his words with a nod and looked back at Neil.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But this is wrong. Fucking wrong.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> "Where the fuck are your blue eyes?" He asked before his brain registered the words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> "Oh, right," Neil turned the other way, pulled a backpack that Andrew hadn't seen before — and that alarmed him a little —, took something out of it, and then proceeded to touch his own eyes. The blonde saw lenses come out and be put inside the packaging with some of the liquid where people always kept contact lenses and Andrew didn't give a shit what it was because he had never put his hands on a contact lens before — he fixed his glasses on his face as if to punctuate this. When Neil turned around again, </span>
  <em>
    <span>there it was.</span>
  </em>
  <span> "I'm sorry, I've been… </span>
  <em>
    <span>busy</span>
  </em>
  <span> for the past few years and that was part of it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span> "Um, I don’t really care though," but he was staring at the blue irises like they were the bright sky in the morning, right before the sun actually comes up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Neil smiled and reached for his backpack again. He took out several letter packs tied together by two thin strings and handed everything to Andrew, who dropped his cigarette to hold the papers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he fiddled with the rope knots to get the letters, Neil started to speak. “I've been writing to you for years. Really horrible things happened to me, and I told all of it in there but never really sent anything because, first of all, I didn't have a single idea of where you could be, you know? Your address and stuff. And second, as I said, shit happened,” he paused to breathe. “I kept writing, though. And I would like you to read it, I guess. I pretty much put everything about my life in these letters and wrote in more sensitive ways than I have ever been able to. No one else got their hands on them but me and now you,” Andrew was already holding one of the letters open and reading it, words and more words of hasty and clumsy handwriting. “While I was trying to survive, all I wanted to do was write a book. This is insane, isn't it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Very much."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neil chuckled. “Yeah, so, I knew I needed to find you because I could never do that with anyone else. You are my partner in this, aren't you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andrew didn’t answer at first. He was stuck in words and more words from Neil about so many things. Chasing, violence in different forms, near-death situations, suspicious care for a paranoid mother, crimes to support that way of life— no, not life. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Survival.</span>
  </em>
  <span> That was what it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neil wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>living</span>
  </em>
  <span> during his life, he was just </span>
  <em>
    <span>surviving</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andrew read everything with his eyes aching like there was fucking blood there and a single thought that he wouldn’t have been able to bear it. He would‘ve missed the goal and would see no point in going through all that shit.</span>
  <em>
    <span> For what?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But at the root of each letter was the contrast. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Every single time</span>
  </em>
  <span> he also wrote something to Andrew or talked about him. He thought about Andrew at all the most random moments possible, seeking comfort from a person he barely knew and — the most surprising — </span>
  <em>
    <span>really finding</span>
  </em>
  <span> what he was looking for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andrew was his escape route since the beginning.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There's not much I can do, is there? Apparently, I'm already intertwined from head to toe with this idiot,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Andrew thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I remembered him too,</span>
  </em>
  <span> was what he meant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because throughout his teenage years and up until now, Andrew would lock himself in his room and draw for hours and hours. He took classes and small online courses and gave up on that to learn on his own. No existing training taught how to draw the blue eyes he dreamed of for so many nights, so he did it himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He buried all his shit in eyes blue like the bottom of the ocean, the stunning sky and cobalt. Even if he drew a room, the pair of eyes was there watching him and waiting for him on the design.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nobody ever understood why Andrew put those blue irises where they didn't even fit, but he went on anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was why looking at the man in front of him now and finally seeing what he had been looking for for years was surreal, absurd, incongruous, incoherent, illogical, strange, bizarre, weird...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he understood Neil, after all. And maybe that's why he looked at the auburn-haired man and said, "Let's write a book then."</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you very much for reading!! and don't forget that authors love kudos and comments.</p><p>(you can always find me on <a href="https://twitter.com/moonqueerdom">twitter</a> or <a href="https://thewickeddevil.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a> and you can <a href="https://ko-fi.com/moon020310">buy me a coffee</a> if you want and help support me)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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